


A Leap off the Edge

by GoatBazaarofFics



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders Being Anders, Dorks in Love, Fenris tries too hard, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pining, awkward confessions, no one is good with their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 05:00:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16825624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoatBazaarofFics/pseuds/GoatBazaarofFics
Summary: Justice and Anders agree on many things. Mages, the Chantry, on demons, blood magic, Hawke's terrible singing. But when it comes to how they should deal with their crush on Fenris, they differ.Tired of waiting for Anders to do something, Justice takes their love life in his own hands.





	A Leap off the Edge

If someone were to ask when Justice fell for Fenris, it was the moment he saw him. And how could he not?

_ The elven warrior swaggers from behind stone walls, and down a flight of stairs. White hair, dusky skin, emerald eyes. His voice, rich and husky and low. Graceful, lithe. His sharp cheekbones. The quirk of his lips when he smirks. His intelligence. His sharp wit. _

_ The way he slides his hand through the slaver’s chest cavity, crushing his hearts.  _

Everything about Fenris makes Justice shudder in delight. Desire is a sin, and the sin that separates him from demons. But he yearns for Fenris. A burning need settles in his being. He wants to hold the elf. Caress his cheek; run fingers through his silky locks. Whisper  _ I love you’s  _ into his ear. Rock gently into the elf until both reach a fever-pitched ecstasy. Deliver the head of his former master on a silver platter. 

There is one, little problem.

“Maker, stop,” Anders, his host mutters under his breath. “He doesn’t even like me, let alone you.” Justice huffs and ignores his friend because for once, he doesn’t care about honesty. He wants to live in the one indulgent fantasy he allows himself to have. Anders has plenty of fantasies, and by default, should sympathize with his. 

“What did you say, Blondie?” 

Anders, and for that matter, Justice, turns their attention to the others around the campsite. 

Sitting across the fire pit is Garrett Hawke. He wears his war paint across his nose. He’s decked out in leather and daggers. Hawke looks up from sharpening a blade; the flames dance in his eyes just as they do on the metal. Between them on their right, is Varric Tethras. He gives the mage a suspicious look. And on their left, Fenris, who does his best to ignore what’s happening. Justice’s one true love. 

After Mage freedom and Anders, of course. 

“Oh, I’m on the list?” His host says hotly in a low tone, before coughing and speaking louder. “I’m chatting it up with Justice. He has opinions, and I don’t agree with said opinions.” Justice knows his friend is lying. Anders likes Fenris too, but steals himself against any hope things will change. The spirit mentally huffs. If he had it his way, they would have already wooed the elf by now. But, of course, Anders is a coward.

The mage jolts upward in a fit of fury. “I am no coward!” he shrieks. 

He doesn’t notice his companions jump out of their seats nor their stunned expressions. His attention is inward, focus solely on the spirit that lives inside his head. For a moment, he is met with silence. A stray thought, that was clearly not his, drifts to the front of his mind.  _ When it comes to Fenris? Yes. _

An offended noise emanates from Anders’s throat. The sound is a mix between a dying bird and a cat getting a bath. The screech causes Fenris to flinch.

“Maker, you two need some alone time. And not the Isabela’s definition of alone time either,” Hawke says, leaning away from the irate mage.

“Try not to attract enemies as you argue with your spirit, mage,” Fenris’s voice is smooth silk. There’s a hint of amusement in his rich tones. While Anders falls into his default annoyed scowl at the elf, Justice is a ball of pure happiness.  _ He called me a spirit! Not a demon! Anders, progress! _

“Andraste’s ass, stop!” he coughs and rubs the back of his neck. The others eyed him with mild interest, but ultimately apathetic about his domestic spat with Justice. “Yes, I think I need some alone time with Justice. Excuse us,” he says in the most pleasant of tones. He bends over to pick up his staff. He gets a prickly sensation on the back of his neck. 

Someone’s watching.

He glances over his shoulder and sees Fenris is looking at his hands and picking his nails. The mage shakes his head and stands up. He straps his staff to his back…and there’s that feeling again.

Anders’s points over his shoulder, “if you hear any more screaming, that’s not me dying. It’s how I talk to my roommate.” He taps his head. He spins on his heels and stalks off further into the beach. 

“Just don’t stray too far from camp, Blondie,” Varric calls after the retreating mage. “I’d hate to lose my favorite Healer!” He waves his hand, showing he heard, but he has no intention to listen. He doesn’t want the others to hear his side of the conversation, especially not Fenris. 

When he’s far from the campsite, where the fire is nothing but a dim lightning bug in the distance, he summons a wisp to chase the darkness away. 

Anders rests an elbow on his hand and rubs his temples with the other. “Alright, Justice, we need to talk.” 

_ Agreed. _

“At least we can agree on something,” he sneers. “Let’s get something straight: He doesn’t ylike us,” he counts off using his fingers, “he will never like us. He hates mages and fears magic. He fears you.” He points to nothing, knowing he doesn’t need too. “You need to stop.”

_ Odd, how you do not take your own advice, _ the spirit states. His smugness sits at the bottom Anders’s stomach. It’s one thing to hear Justice’s usual arrogant ramblings but it's another to feel his arrogance settling in like sludge. A spark of anger erupts, overshadowing the spirit’s superiority.

“I can’t exactly get over him when you continue to pine after the elf!” he gestures wildly, losing feathers in the process, “it’s been three years! What has changed for him and me? The arguments are worse than they were in the beginning. He won’t listen to reason!” 

_ If you would stop— _

“How about you stop?” he cuts the spirit’s thoughts. It wasn’t necessary. He knows what Justice thinks, how he feels. But it felt good to cut him all the same. “Why do you to cling to this stupid crush? Fenris is just a distraction.”

The spirit is furious, and he takes over. “Fenris is not a distraction. Your brief attraction to Hawke was!”

Anders claws his way to the front of his mind, and he pushes the spirit back. “Oh! So, when  _ you _ like someone, it’s not a problem. But when  _ I _ like someone, it’s the end of the Blighted world!”

_ You like Fenris as much as I do. I know your heart and mind, Anders. I do not appreciate the lies. _

“And I don’t appreciate,” he starts off strong, but his shoulders slump. The fight is pointless. Justice is right, of course, he is. Justice is spirit of righteousness. He can’t lie to himself. “And I don’t appreciate being alone. I don’t want to be alone anymore,” he admits. He wraps his arms around himself. “Maker, I don’t know what to do. You know every time I think about a truce, and even begin a friendship, my efforts turn into petty fighting. I’m just tired of it.”

_ I know.  _ Justice curls into himself, shielding his thoughts from Anders. The self-imposed isolation lasts for a brief second. When he opens up again, he knows nothing but guilt. He inches forward to take over Anders’s arms and hands. He squeezes gently. It’s the closest he can get to hugging his host. _ I did not mean to call you a coward. I apologize. I know why you are hesitant to open yourself up to Fenris. _

Anders laugh. It’s bitter and hallow, and it barely covers the dry sob that escapes his throat. 

“Are you done talking to your spirit, mage?” 

Anders jumps, and Justice flickers protectively over his body. They spin around to see Fenris a few yards away. His arms a cross, and his expression is set in a bored frown. 

He swallows. “Did you hear anything?” 

The elf rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Why would I listen to a one-sided conversation?” He turns and walks off. “Come, mage, before Hawke and the dwarf think you’re dead.”

Anders pauses. Fenris didn’t deny he heard the conversation, but certainly, he would comment if he did. “Do you think he heard us, Justice?”

The spirit doesn’t answer, because for once, he isn’t sure.

—

When Anders sleeps, Justice has nothing to do. He can’t work on their manifesto. They are stuck on a paragraph, and Anders him from writing after breaking one too many cots in frustration the other night. He read all over their books, even the dry medical tomes Anders adores. He rather read Chantry propaganda than the tomes again; at least he would understand their enemies better. 

They have returned from their trip from Sondermount three days ago. Fenris is still on his mind, but he keeps his ‘fawning’, as Anders calls it, to himself. But what Anders said about being alone has stayed with him since their fight. He knows, and his friend knows, they will never be alone again. But possession isn’t the same thing Anders needs. But how can his friend get what he wants when he hides his feelings?

Justice sits upward. An idea strikes him. It’s a jolt electricity he wasn’t expecting, but welcomes all the same.

_ He _ will tell Fenris. He shouldn’t have to wait for his friend. He likes Fenris just as much as the mage. And even if the elf isn’t receptive to  _ him _ , he could be to Anders. Eventually. And if it goes nowhere, they will finally be rid of their feelings of the elf. And, again, they are not alone. Not completely. 

Throwing back the flimsy covers and jumps out of bed. He looks through the pile of Anders’s nicer, cleaner clothes. He finds tight-fitting pants and a dark tunic with a low neck. This is enticing, right? Anders looks attractive in black, right? Fenris will like tight clothing on this body, right? Right. With his mind made up, he pulls the tunic over his head, and pulls the pants up his legs. 

He pauses while lacing up his trousers. He forgot under garments. No, wait, Anders doesn’t own smalls. He is recalling Kristoff’s dressing ritual. He shakes his head, freeing himself of memories that aren’t his. He slips on socks and then boots. He grabs Anders’s coat, and he cringes. The tan and green fabric clashes with the outfit. Justice has no time for vanity, but the colors just don’t work what he’s trying to do. He will need to suggest a black version of their coat when Anders is awake. 

He makes sure to wrap a cloak around himself. He has to hide his presence, and cloaks aren’t affected like Anders’s clothes. He straps Freedom’s Call to his back, and he’s ready.

He leaves the clinic behind, locked and secured. He creeps through Darktown, and uses Hawke’s basement door to get to Fenris’s mansion quicker. 

The door to the main room creeks silently, and he winces. He wants this operation to be go as quietly as possible. The Amell estate making noises isn’t going to help him. He takes a soft breath, and closes the door behind him.

He goes for the main entrance. As he passes the fire place, he doesn’t notice the two lumps on the floor under blankets and surrounded by pillows. When he leaves, Merrill sits. The covers fall from her body, exposing them both. “What do you think Justice is up to?” she asks.

Hawke groans, missing the heat from her mouth. “I don’t even want to know!” He whines. 

Justice takes in the snow fall. Relying on Anders’s childhood memories, he decides this bit of small white flurries are nothing. The thin sheet of snow crunches underfoot as he makes his way to Fenris’s mansion. By the time he reaches his destination, his nose is red and cold. He wishes they still had Commander’s scarf. He summons heat to chase the cold away; he doesn’t want Anders’s nose to fall off.

He knocks on the door a few times. He waits. And waits. And waits. And waits. And he doesn’t know how long he is waiting. Maybe seeing Fenris in the middle of the night was a bad idea. Mortals need sleep, and they usually sleep at night. Fenris, despite his ethereal beauty, is a mortal. Therefore, logic dictates the elf is asleep at this time.

Deflated, Justice turns around to leave, but stops in his tracks when he hears the door open. 

He glances over his shoulder, and is greeted by a sleepy and grumpy elf. He is in what Justice to describe as a house robe made of fluffy clouds. 

Fenris rubs his eyes and yawns. “What are you doing, spirit?” his voice is rougher than normal. 

“I apologize for waking you up,” he moves in closer; the elf doesn’t back away, “but I must speak with you.” 

Fenris’s eyes narrow, “in the middle of the night?” he yawns again, and Justice must fight to not do it as well. The pains of living in a mortal body. 

“Yes. I understand this is an inconvenient time for you, but we must speak. Without Anders knowing,” he adds as an explanation for the late hour. 

The elf yawns yet again, and this time, Justice can’t fight the urge anymore. Silence drifts between them like the snowflakes fall on Anders’s cloak as Fenris contemplates letting the spirit inside. 

The cold air decides for him, and nods his head for Justice to follow. “I suppose I could listen to you.” 

Justice nods his head and enters. Fenris closes and locks the door behind them, and he leads them down an unlit hallway. Or a hallway that was unlit if it weren’t for him. Anders wouldn’t like this one bit. If things go well tonight, they will need to find a way to lighten the corridor. 

Fenris takes him pass the corpses, through the main hall, down five stairs, and into a sitting room. The white stone fireplace is burning brightly, illuminating the room in a warm glow. In front of the open fire is a wooden table and a dark-colored couch. On either side of the table are two chairs. They are stained and torn. The table is beaten up and had seen better days. Two bookshelves sit on either side of the fireplace. They both are missing books, and hold wine bottles instead. Some are empty, some are not. 

The elf raises his arm, inviting him further in, “take your cloak off and take a sit.” He glances down, “your boots as well.” Without further comment, Fenris strolls pass the spirit. As he reaches the nearest chair, he disrobes without hesitation. 

Justice bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from hissing.

Fenris is wearing only black leggings made out of thin material. Almost sheer. The swirling tattoos faintly shine through. He drops the robe on the chair. He swipes a half-full bottle off the bookshelf and takes swig. He stops drinking and lowers the bottle from his lips. He turns back to face Justice. The contrast between fire and shadow highlights his muscles. 

Justice’s eyes drift. The lyrium lines that carve the elf’s skin are his road map downward. 

He snaps his focus back to the gleaming green orbs. He will not be enslaved to this mortal’s esqueite form. He is stronger than Anders’s bodily responses. He is a spirit of Justice. He is righteous in his actions. He is firm on what is right. He is unwavering in his convictions.  He is hard. He will not allow this body to control him. He will not bend to anything and anyone.

But those leggings hide so little, and he would bend over for the elf. 

He feels blood leaving his head for another. Suddenly, the tight-fitted pants he chose was a bad idea. 

“Are you going to stare all night, or did you have something to say?” Fenris asks. His voice is heavy with an emotion Justice cannot place, but it sends shivers down his spine. 

Justice flushes and looks away. He takes off his cloak, and then the coat. He glances, looking for a place to leave his outer-garments. 

“You can just leave your things on the coach,” the elf is now lounging in his chosen chair. Justice does as he is told and steps on the plush carpet. The elf stops him. “Your boots, spirit.”

The spirit pauses, and his eyes widen. “My apologies.” He drops the clothing on the floor and turns around to use the steps for balance. He quickly un-laces the first boot and rips it off, and switches to the other. He bends over again and the short hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Someone is watching him. He takes his time untying the boot. He glances over his shoulder. 

He locks eyes with Fenris who just smirks in return. The elf averts his gaze to openly stare at his rear end. 

Justice snaps his head forward. No doubt Anders’s pale skin is a bright red. 

And there was what happened three days ago. They were both unsure if the elf overheard their argument. And they both felt like someone was watching when their back was turned. And Fenris took forever to answer the door, and when he did, he answered in  _ that _ outfit. And he casually stripped in front of Justice. 

What could this all mean? Unsure, he digs through Anders’s experiences for answers. He sees Anders in similar situations. Anders trying, and sometimes succeeding seducing someone into bed. 

Oh.

_ Oh!  _

Justice rips the boot off and tosses it into the other room. He spins on his heel, and in three long strides, he’s upon the elf. 

He bends over, and grabs Fenris by the cheeks. He leans in for a kiss, but pauses at the elf’s shocked expression. Did he misinterpret the elf’s intent? Is he forcing himself onto Fenris? 

In his hesitation, Fenris gets over his shock and reaches for a clump of blonde hair. He drags the spirit down, and crashes their lips together. 

He is alit with the song of the Fade. He needs to be closer. He needs to touch Fenris’s skin with his own. He crawls over the arm chair, and he straddles the elf’s lap, not breaking contact. The kiss is feverish. Biting. Licking. Sucking. Moaning. Panting. Hands move down his back, gripping for a lifeline. His fingers dance down muscled chest, marked with Lyrium and scars, while his hand tangles in white hair. 

Fenris breaks away and lifts Justice up. He wiggles out of his leggings, freeing himself. With an inviting grin, he tugs on his cock. Justice hovers over him, jaw slacked. He can’t avert his gaze. Fenris grabs his collar and pulls him down for another kiss. Justice returns to his spot, feeling his harden member. 

Fire stirs within him. Burning with a sensation he cannot name. He never been so alive. He wants more. He wants Fenris buried deep inside him. He wants the bed break beneath him. He wants it now.

And something else stirs too.

Anders. 

Anders is waking up. 

Panicked, Justice jerks away and falls. He hits his back against the table, and falls with a thud. But guilt and horror claws at him and overrides the sudden pain.

Fenris leans forward. “Are you okay?” he asks, with concern in his eyes.

“Anders!” Justice shouts. He stands, and paces in the small space in front of the chair. “Anders is asleep. He cannot consent to this!”

Fenris gets to his feet too and grabs Justice’s shoulders. He forces the spirit to be still. “Then wake him up, and we, the three of us, can talk about it.” Justice looks down, meeting beautiful green eyes. They reflect his blue light and honesty.

The spirit swallows; he still tastes the elf on his tongue. “He will be upset when he does. I betrayed his trust—

“Justice,” his name, his very essence, on those lips cuts his terrified rant off short. “Justice, wake Anders up. I’ll explain what happened.”

He feels his host drifting to the front of his mind. He’s content and aroused, but still asleep. He gives a curt nod and doesn’t say anymore. He lays down on the couch. The last thing he sees is Fenris moving over next to him. He crouches low and brushes blond hair out of his face.

Anders wakes with a smile, but slightly annoyed. He was having the most wonderful dream. He was sitting on Fenris’s lap, kissing the elf to the Void and back. It was such a lovely, hot kiss too. 

But in his dream, he fell, hurting his back…and, ow, his back really does hurt. 

He sits ups slowly with grunt. He reaches around and rests his hand over his sore spot. He blinks and yawns. He curls his toes and notices something off. And why is he wearing pants? And a shirt. And this isn’t his bed. Or his clinic. He sniffs. Nor does it smell like his clinic either. Where is he?

He looks around, confused by his surroundings. He spots a mop of white hair. He tilts his head downward, locking eyes with Fenris. The elf is crouched next to him. He rubs his neck, and the tips of his ears turn red. He shifts to sit on the table, giving Anders full show.

His mouth drops. “Sweet Maker, you’re naked!” he blurts out before he can stop himself. 

If Fenris’s ears were red before, they are even more red now. He coughs and turns his head. “So I am.” He does nothing to cover himself. 

That wasn’t a dream? He blushes, and laughs, “I want you to know I don’t normally sleep walk into people’s homes, and make out with them.” 

“It wasn’t you.”

His brows furrow. He turns his focus inward. His friend has shut himself away. “Justice?”

Fenris nods. “We never got to why he was here before…” his words drift off.

“I think I can figure out why,” Anders snorts, “of course, I have many, many questions.”

Fenris pushes his hair back, “I overheard you two the other night,” he said, “though I assume you already know this.”

Anders reluctantly nods, “well that’s an embarrassing way to confess your feelings.” 

Fenris slides onto the couch, sitting close that legs touch. Hesitate, he places a firm hand on his thigh. Anders’s throat dries up. “I am happy I overheard your domestic with Justice. I’ve spent a year debating to tell you. When Justice showed up earlier, I took the opportunity.”

He rubs his thigh in soft circles. His hand travels inward, his fingers brushing against him. Anders shivered in delight. Justice perked from his spot in the back of his mind. 

“And then you two began making out,” Anders added, recalling his not-dream, “while I was asleep.” 

Fenris snatches his hand away and creates distance between them. His head is bowed. “I...I am so sorry. Words cannot explain how I ashamed I am for taking advantage of you.” 

Justice mimics the sentiment and burries deep into Anders’s psyche. Anders sighs, and massages his temple. “Okay, look, I don’t feel violated nor am I mad. It’s Justice’s body too, you know. I’m bit disturbed though, and I don’t want you two to do this again without me knowing before hand.” He said. “But, truly, Fenris, I am not mad you. Or Justice.”

Fenris glances up. “Of course,” he said and his hand wavers for a moment in the air. “Can I hold your hand?” 

Anders takes it, smiling, “yes, you can.” 

They sit in silence, watching the flames dance in the fireplace. Justice creeps forward again, prodding at his mind. 

_ May I join you two? _

I don’t see why not, Anders thinks. Thank you for asking.

Faint blue lines appear over his body. Their body. “Why do you like us?” 

Fenris raises his brow at them. “What’s there not to like? Anders is witty, passionate, caring, tender when he wants to be. He’s handsome too,” he explained, “and I like Justice for the same reasons. It took me awhile to look pass the,” he waved his other hand, “spirit-possessing-a-mage issue.” 

“Right,” they said. They cracks their neck. “But I don’t— _ we  _ don’t understand why you hadn’t said anything until now?”

“Because I thought you hated me,” he answered. “We always fought over everything. I feared your reaction if you found out. And so I kept my feelings a secret.”

“Oh...well, Anders—I,” They falter, “he had the same fears. Justice did not.” 

Fenris hums. “Does being like this confuses you?” He asks.

“It doesn’t, as long as we are not referring to ourselves as separate people, we will be fine,” they squeezed his hand. “We both want to share this moment with you.” 

Fenris returns their smile. It is large, and nothing like his smirk. He cups their cheek and pulls them in for a gentle kiss. They hum into his lips, enjoying his taste for the first and second time. 

They pull away, already missing his touch, “now what? Where do we go from here?” They ask in a hush tone. 

He licks lips, “if you, Anders, want to, I’d like to finish what we started.” 

Justice supplies his fantasies. Them being held down by the throat, Fenris taking them roughly. “Maker’s breath,” Anders whispers, taking over. “I want to, Maker, do I want to.”

Fenris stands, his smirk returns. He still holds Anders’s hand, “then why don’t the three of us move this conversation upstairs.” 

Anders’s eyes flicker downward and then back at Fenris, “love, there isn’t going to be any conversation.” He gets to his feet, “I hope you can keep up with a Warden and spirit.” He leaves before Fenris can.

Fenris chuckles, “I am always up for the challenge,” he calls out before chasing the mage down. Anders picks up speed with the help of Justice, and dashes up the stairs, their laughter trails behind them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Found an old story that in ever post.


End file.
